


let me be your cigarette

by colonel_bastard



Category: From Dusk Till Dawn (1996)
Genre: Arguing, Blow Jobs, Boot Worship, Codependency, Foot Fetish, Implied/Referenced Underage Sex, Licking, M/M, Masturbation, Oral Sex, Roughness, Submission, foot worship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-26
Updated: 2014-11-26
Packaged: 2018-02-27 01:14:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,954
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2673365
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/colonel_bastard/pseuds/colonel_bastard
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Richie reveals a secret kink.  Seth indulges him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	let me be your cigarette

**Author's Note:**

> written because Tarantino and I both have a foot fetish.

-

-

-

They’ve been fighting all day. No real reason for it, they just woke up on the wrong side of the bed and they’ve been trying to pick up the slack ever since. Richie has been dealing out the most intolerable amount of sass, back-talking at the slightest thing, and it’s been driving Seth up the fucking wall. First he throws a fit because Seth uses the wrong coffee in the coffee machine— _fuck, Seth, we did your fucking French roast shit yesterday, I wanted to do hazelnut today!_ Then he bitches and moans and drags his feet and by the time they get to McDonald’s they’re not serving breakfast anymore. Not only that, but neither of them brought a gun, so they can’t force anyone to go in the back and get them hotcakes. By the time they get home with their Big Macs, Seth is about ready to blow a gasket. 

Then Richie finds out that they messed up his order. 

“What the _fuck_ ,” he whines, his voice turning shrill. “I said no pickles, extra onions! That bitch got it backwards!”

“I don’t give a flying fuck,” Seth says through gritted teeth. “Unless that burger is full of fucking spiders, you are gonna eat it and like it.” 

“Look at this!” Richie shoves his open sandwich towards Seth, pointing indignantly at the double portion of pickles. “This is bullshit. I didn’t pay for this shit.” 

“Just eat the goddamn burger, Richie.”

“Fuck that! This isn’t what I ordered.”

“Well you know what? You can’t always get what you want. But if you try sometimes, you just might find that you can eat a fucking Big Mac with extra pickles and not die.”

“Yeah? Well if _you_ try sometimes, you just might find my foot up your ass, you prick.” 

“If you don’t shut your fucking mouth and eat that fucking burger—”

“And how the fuck am I supposed to eat it with my mouth shut, Seth? You wanna explain that to me?”

“Oh I’m gonna explain it all right—”

Seth bolts up from his seat with murder in his eyes, and as he lunges around the corner of the table that separates them, Richie grabs his Big Mac and wings at him like a hand grenade. The sandwich breaks apart in midair, the various components scattering in every direction, none of them hitting their target. In the next instant Seth is close enough to grab Richie by the front of his t-shirt, pinning him down in his chair. 

“Listen here, you little shit,” he snarls. “I don’t care if you ordered Chicken fucking McNuggets, you are gonna eat that Big Mac right this instant or you are gonna be sorry.” 

“I can’t eat it now,” Richie says, smug. “It’s all over the floor.” 

“That’s not my fault.”

“Well what am I supposed to do? Do you want me to—”

“—get down on your hands and knees and clean up the mess you’ve made.”

Richie gives an incredulous scoff, but when Seth’s glare remains unrelenting, his smile fades into an expression of confusion. 

“Off the floor?” he mumbles, looking uncertain for the first time that day. 

Seth is too pissed to back off. “That’s right.” 

They both look down at the various bits and pieces of burger that have ended up all around them. Seth notices that the top half of the bun has landed sauce-side down on his boot, and he juts his foot forward in annoyance. 

“You can start with this.” 

Richie looks up at him sharply, astonished. 

“What?” 

“You heard me.” 

Seth lets go of Richie’s t-shirt so he can grab a handful of his hair instead, yanking him out of his seat. Richie stumbles down to his knees with a startled squawk, bracing his hands against the floor and pushing back against Seth’s grip. That only makes Seth push down harder. 

“Clean it up!” he commands, twisting his fist in Richie’s hair. 

“Ow, Seth, fuck!” 

But after gaining his bearings, Richie does as he’s told, reaching down to take the bun between forefinger and thumb and gingerly peeling it away. Then he peers back up at Seth, the tattered piece of bread dangling from his fingertips, his head cocked in an unspoken question.

“Get rid of it,” Seth says. 

Richie tosses the bun aside, then looks up again for further instructions. Seth nods down at the considerable smear of sauce that’s been left behind on his boot. 

“Finish what you’ve started.” 

But Richie doesn’t seem to know how to do that. He just kneels there, looking up at Seth and down at the boot and up again, his brow furrowed in bewilderment. On any other occasion Seth might be swayed by that ridiculous face, but the morning has been too long, too frustrating, and he’s all out of patience. He uses his grip on Richie’s hair to force his head back, back, until his neck is arched and his teeth are bared in pain. 

“Clean it up,” he repeats, his voice low and dark. “With your tongue.” 

Richie’s eyes go saucer-wide behind his glasses. 

“Are— are you serious?” 

“As a heart attack.” 

Giving his hair one last rough jerk, Seth shoves him down onto his hands and knees. 

“Go ahead,” he growls. “Lick my boot.”

Richie cowers there on the floor, staring down at Seth’s boot like it’s going to grow a fist and punch him straight in the face. Then he sort of bobs up and down, hesitant, getting closer and closer to the floor on every dip. 

“You better not kick me,” he mutters.

Slowly, slowly, he lowers his head all the way down, sticks out his tongue, and licks a careful stripe right through the center of the smear. It gives Seth a full-body shiver of satisfaction; he rolls his shoulders and cracks his neck, feeling like the king of the world. 

“There you go,” he says, a note of smug approval in his voice. 

Richie doesn’t even acknowledge him. He’s huddled down over that boot, his attention focused on nothing else as he drags his tongue in a perpendicular line to the first, drawing an X in the patch of sauce. Seth would have thought he’d be whining in protest by now, but instead he’s on his third lick— his _fourth_ — and he hasn’t made a single sound. 

It’s... weird. 

_All right,_ he wants to say. _That’s enough._

But when he goes to take a step back, Richie latches on to his ankle with both hands. 

He’s got his whole mouth on the boot now, his tongue lapping at the filthy leather, his eyes squeezed shut in concentration. There isn’t even any sauce left. Now he’s just down there for the hell of it, and he’s still licking. 

If Seth didn’t know any better, he’d think he was enjoying himself. 

“Whoa, take it easy,” he says, and he tugs his boot out of Richie’s grip. 

Instantly Richie rears back onto his knees, his arms thrown up in surrender, his eyes looking everywhere but Seth’s face. 

“Sorry, sorry,” he blurts out, raking his fingers through his hair. “Jesus, Seth, I’m sorry.”

Seth just stares at him, amazed at what he sees. There’s a slight tremor to Richie’s hands and to his breathing, too, the air coming in short, quick hiccups. His ears are flushed red with embarrassment and he still can’t bring himself to look Seth in the eye. He hasn’t looked this flustered since he was fourteen years old, and that was seconds before he lunged across the couch and kissed Seth for the very first time. Seth feels the same surge of affection as before, the same realization that this little weirdo means more to him than anything else in the world. He leans down and brushes a hand over Richie’s head, sliding it down under his chin and tilting it up to meet his gaze. 

“What’s going on, buddy?” he wonders. 

Richie finally looks up at him, his expression bordering on agonized. 

“Just forget it, okay? It’s stupid. I’m stupid.” 

But Seth doesn’t want to forget it. How could he ever forget something that gets Richie so rattled, so perfectly, deliciously discombobulated? Seth runs a thumb over his brother’s bottom lip, thrilling at the way Richie swallows hard, his pupils blown wide with excitement. 

“You’re pretty stupid,” Seth says. “Don’t get up yet.” 

They’re still next to the kitchen table where they were trying to eat their breakfast. Seth leans back to grab his chair, dragging it over to sit down, and as he does Richie automatically reaches for his thighs, scooting into the space between his legs like he was born to be there. Seth never gets tired of seeing him do that, but right now, he has something else in mind. He nudges Richie away from him, then props his foot up on his knee and tugs off his boot. 

“Since you did such a good job with this,” he says. “I think you should clean the rest, too.” 

The boot hits the floor. He’s reaching down to take his sock off next— but then Richie’s hands settle over his, holding them still. 

“Can I...” he licks his lips, nervous. “Can I do it?”

Seth smiles down at him. “Knock yourself out.” 

Richie tugs Seth’s foot down into his lap and lets it sit there, like he can hardly believe this is actually happening. He takes a deep breath and pushes his glasses up his nose, then wipes his sweating palms on his thighs. Carefully, cautiously, he nudges Seth’s jeans up along his leg, exposing the hem of his cheap white sweat sock. Then he hooks his fingertips in the elastic band and slides it down with all the reverence of a groom removing his bride’s garter on their wedding night. Seth almost laughs, it’s so absurd, but Richie’s face is so serious that he doesn’t dare. 

Down over the heel, Richie’s fingers creeping along, the sock peeling with it until it pops off entirely in his hands. He makes a tiny sound of amazement at the sight of Seth’s bare foot, his eyes riveted on it while he absently discards the sock to one side. Then he brings both hands to bear, cradling that foot like it’s the most precious thing in existence. He looks up at Seth, his face as open and vulnerable as it’s ever been. 

“Are you sure this is okay?” he stammers. “You don’t— I mean you don’t have to—”

Seth flexes his foot and Richie instinctively tightens his grip on it, like a kid who fears his Christmas present is about to be taken away. That’s all the confirmation Seth needs. 

“Buddy,” he says. “Do what you gotta do.” 

Richie looks down again, his expression dazed. With an uncharacteristic tenderness, he begins to brush his fingertips this way and that, first over the top of the foot and then, tentatively, moving on to the toes. Soon enough his touch turns deliberate, and he goes from toe to toe with solemn intent, meticulously cleaning out the spaces in between. His fingers come away smeared with little clumps of toe jam, and Seth curls his lip, disgusted with himself. 

“Holy shit,” he murmurs. “I didn’t think it was that bad.” 

“It’s fine,” Richie says distantly. “It’s okay.” 

He flicks the toe jam away without ever taking his eyes off the prize. Then he curls one hand around Seth’s heel, as gently as if he were holding an egg. He starts to lower his head, reconsiders, then takes his glasses off first, setting them on the floor and giving them a little nudge to send them sliding away. Satisfied, he resumes his approach, bowing down until he’s only an inch away from contact. Seth can’t believe how nervous he feels, can’t get over how much this reminds him of their first time together, speechless at the sight of Richie on his knees before him, neither of them quite knowing what was going to happen next. 

Then Richie presses his mouth to the top of Seth’s naked foot in a fierce, worshipful kiss.

Seth sits back in his chair and releases a long, shuddering breath from between his teeth. He’s grateful for the armrests so he has something to grab on to, to brace himself against the instinctive urge to yank his foot away from this ridiculous attention and shove it back into its boot where it belongs. He can’t even pretend to understand it, but Richie looks like he’s on cloud fucking nine as he nuzzles his face all over the fucking thing, his eyes closed like he’s trying to commit every second of this to memory. God, that foot was just in a _sweat sock_ , it must fucking _reek_ , but it doesn’t seem to bother him in the slightest. Seth just watches him go for it, speechless.

You know, all things considered, this isn’t so bad. Seth doesn’t really have to do anything, and Richie is clearly having the time of his freaky little life down there. After a while Seth is actually starting to relax a little bit— but then Richie hunches up his shoulders and lets his tongue come out. 

_This shit just leveled up._

Seth bites down hard on his lower lip to keep from saying anything, since the first thing that comes to mind is _are you really licking my fucking foot right now._ Because he is. Richie is licking his foot, full tongue contact, lapping at it like a cat skimming for cream. And he doesn’t just lick the top of it, either, he’s going to fucking _town_ , jamming his tongue between the toes and everything. He’s making the craziest little noises, eager, greedy whimpers while his hands caress Seth’s heel and ankle. 

And when he takes Seth’s big toe into his mouth, he emits a full-on, deep-throated _moan._

Seth stares down at Richie’s mouth wrapped around his fucking toe. He officially doesn’t know if he should feel grossed out or turned on. Then Richie bobs his head, sucking hard, rocking back and forth on his knees while his hips thrust in mindless need, and all of a sudden Seth knows exactly how he feels. Already half-hard, he drops one hand into his lap to rub himself through his pants. He can see the erection straining at the front of Richie’s jeans— God, that zipper must be fucking _killing_ him right now. 

“Hey,” he says, surprised by how hoarse his voice sounds. “Don’t hurt yourself, buddy.” 

Richie makes an incoherent sound of confusion. 

“You’re about to pop,” Seth says. “Better take care of that.”

Richie manages to tear his mouth away and look down at himself, panting and gasping while he fumbles with his button and fly. He shoves his jeans and boxers down just enough to free his cock, then grabs it with one hand while the other goes right back to Seth’s ankle, lifting his foot back up towards his face. 

There’s no other way to describe it— he starts _making out_ with Seth’s foot, all lips and teeth and tongue, barely managing to breathe while he jerks himself off in total bliss. Seth has never seen anything like it, never seen anyone go completely balls to the wall on a personal fetish like this, seizing the motherfucking moment like a goddamn champion. It’s downright awe-inspiring. Seth is hard as a rock just from watching it.

On a sudden impulse he curls his toes, hooking them behind Richie’s teeth. Richie practically sobs with pleasure, his whole body arching like lightning while he pumps himself hard and fast. Seth rotates his ankle and Richie rolls his neck to keep up with him, never letting that foot leave his mouth, his tongue going at it like he’s going down on a girl for the first time. He looks up and locks onto Seth’s gaze with his own, his eyes filled with gratitude and adoration. Seth grins at him, wiggling his toes until those eyes roll back in Richie’s skull, overwhelmed. 

“You know,” Seth remarks, shivering with satisfaction at the display. “Now that I know you’re cool with it, I’m gonna expect foot rubs. A lot of foot rubs.” 

And Richie groans and comes hard; loud, harsh grunts as his teeth clamp down and his body spasms and he shoots his load all over the kitchen floor. Seth just watches it happen, watches Richie fall apart before him, completely batshit crazy and Seth wouldn’t want him any other way. He wonders how long it will be before the teethmarks start to fade. He kind of hopes they last for a while. 

Utterly spent, Richie releases Seth’s foot from his mouth and bows his head forward until it rests on his brother’s knee, his shoulders heaving up and down as he fights to catch his breath. Seth leans down to tousle his damp, sweaty hair, and with a contented moan Richie lolls his head so he can look up at him. 

“Thank you,” he wheezes, rubbing his drool-streaked chin against Seth’s leg. “Thank you.” 

“Don’t thank me just yet,” Seth smirks. 

He sits back and gestures down at the front of his pants, tented with arousal. Richie gives him a lopsided grin and nuzzles the inside of his thigh, still breathing hard. 

“I’m fucking dry, man. I got no spit left.” 

As if to prove his point, he smacks his lips together, his tongue clicking hollowly against the roof of his mouth. All of his saliva is either smeared all over Seth’s foot or smeared all over his face. Seth gives a disapproving tut-tut and shakes his head.

“Well that’s just goddamn inconsiderate.”

Richie wrinkles his nose and rolls his eyes.

“Bitch, bitch, bitch.” 

Nevertheless, he sits up on his knees, reaches over onto the kitchen table, and grabs his root beer. He latches on to the straw and sucks up a mouthful, swishing it around in his cheeks like mouthwash, giving Seth an are-you-happy-now? look as he gulps it down. Then he sets the cup aside and slides in close, shooing Seth’s hands out of the way so he can undo the button and zipper himself. 

The inside of his mouth is still ice-cold from the root beer when he fastens on to Seth’s cock. Seth sucks in a gasp of surprise that comes back out again in a chuckle of pleasure, his hands automatically settling into their favorite place: tangled in Richie’s hair. Richie never had the chance to regain his wind, and now he’s breathing off to one side like a marathon swimmer, giving his work priority over his oxygen. He’ll be gasping for air by the time he’s finished. Seth spreads his legs a touch wider, urging him to get closer. 

Richie shows the same enthusiasm on Seth’s dick as he did on his foot, going full tilt boogie like he always does, fast and rough and reckless. It was like this the first time, Seth sprawled out on the dirty couch in the basement, astounded by Richie’s lunatic gusto, his total lack of shame. Back then he didn’t even know what the hell he was doing, but now he’s been sucking the same cock for over a decade and he knows _exactly_ how Seth likes it. Seth is so torqued up from watching Richie’s performance that it won’t take much. He’s already twitching in his seat, matching the thrust of his hips with Richie’s up and down motion, everything in him coiling tighter and tighter towards release. 

Then Richie goes for the kill. Eyes squeezed shut and nostrils snorting for air, he shoves his head down and takes as much of Seth as he can handle, releasing a guttural groan that makes everything vibrate. 

“ _Fuck,_ ” Seth barks, and he comes right there, right down Richie’s throat, while Richie hums and swallows every last drop. 

Now they’re both out of breath. Exhausted, Richie tips his head over to rest on Seth’s thigh, settling down comfortably in the space between his legs while Seth sets in to petting his hair, stupid and affectionate. He watches as Richie’s hand wanders down the length of his leg and starts to pet his foot with the same dopey affection. It’s times like these that Seth doesn’t really care if there’s a heaven or hell waiting on the other side. Wherever he ends up, he knows that Richie will be there with him, and the rest will just be details. 

He waits until they’re both breathing a little bit steadier, waits for his head to get just a little bit clearer, while Richie just dozes there in his lap like a big, dumb cat. Finally Seth feels calm enough to lean back in his chair and pulls his pants back up, tucking himself in and drawing up the zipper. With a huff of protest, Richie sits back on his knees, looking like a first-class trainwreck in his dirty Ramones t-shirt with his limp dick hanging out of the front of his jeans. Seth takes a moment to just look at him, to bask in the sight of him, and for a second there he can’t decide if he’s insanely lucky or just completely fucking insane. It’s probably a mix of both. He gestures at Richie’s open pants. 

“I think you can put your dick away now.”

Grinning with his tongue between his teeth, Richie puts his hands behind his head and waggles his hips instead. It works; Seth guffaws outright. 

“You fucking spaz,” he laughs. “Put your goddamn dick away.” 

Richie giggles and squirms back into his jeans, then crawls off to the side to grab his glasses. Once he’s got them back on, he scoops up Seth’s boot in one hand and his sock in the other, then holds them out to him with a sheepish smile. 

“Here,” he says. “I think these are yours.” 

“Yep,” Seth replies.

He sticks out his bare foot, his eyebrows raised expectantly. Richie catches his meaning right away, and without question he sets the boot aside so he can roll up the sock for ease of application. Fitting it over the toes, he takes the opportunity to give Seth’s foot one last quick kiss before covering it all up again. Then he gets the boot back on, and when it’s all done he tugs Seth’s jeans down into place and gives both boots a congratulatory pat. 

“So,” he smirks. “Want me to shine ‘em while I’m down here?” 

“Maybe later,” Seth says. “Right now I’ve got plans.” 

Richie makes a quizzical expression. “Plans for what?” 

Seth stands up and pats him on the head. 

“Plans to go back to McDonald’s and get you another Big Mac.” 

At those words, Richie’s face lights up in glee. 

“Can I get a milkshake this time?”

“For you, buddy,” Seth grins. “Two milkshakes.”

Richie gives a victorious whoop and Seth feels like his heart is about to explode in his fucking chest. He would do anything for this stupid kid. He’d buy him fifty milkshakes if he asked. He’d buy him the whole goddamn store, every last french fry and every single drop of root beer, if that’s what Richie wanted. He would give him everything, the whole kit and caboodle, all the riches of the world and even more than that, if only he could. 

And maybe someday he will. Maybe someday he’ll move heaven and earth to get Richie to a place where he can be happy for the rest of his life, a place where they’ll be free to do whatever they want, and all the other bullshit that came before won’t even matter.

But for now, two milkshakes and a Big Mac is a good place to start. 

 

 

 

____________end.


End file.
